His Fantastic Little Boy
by kaileytmarie
Summary: Sherman said he was Mr. Peabody's only mistake. Mr. Peabody is not okay with such thinking. Takes place toward the end of the movie. Father/son Fluff. Oneshot.


**Here's another sappy Mr. Peabody and Sherman fic. I just can't get enough of these two! **

* * *

"That was awesome, Mr. Peabody!" Sherman exclaimed, bounding out of the WABAC and running across the platform to the door.

"Indeed, Sherman." Peabody smiled proudly at his son. "And I must admit, you were an excellent driver."

Sherman spun on his heals, eyes bright. "You really mean it?"

Peabody chuckled. "You were remarkable."

Bouncing up and down once more, the seven year old ran in circles around his father. "But not as remarkable as you, Mr. Peabody!" He tripped and fell on his face.

"Careful, Sherman. We just barely avoided the collapse of all of space and time. It would be quite unfortunate for your own excitement over the matter to be your... _downfall_," he said with a wink.

Moments later the dog and his boy were riding the elevator back to their penthouse. Sherman was joyously re-enacting the events of the day, adding his own commentary when necessary.

"And then when you bit her, Mr. Peabody! It was the coolest thing ever!" Sherman threw his arms over his head in excitement. He dashed for the kitchen, Peabody following casually behind. "I mean, I knew you liked me, but I didn't know you liked me enough to make you bite someone!"

The Beagle paused mid-stride. He hated that he had succumbed to such barbarous instincts so easily. His momentary inability to control himself had nearly cost him his son! It had almost cost him his life as well, but that was beside the point.

He had no regret in doing what he had to to stop the crazed woman from harming his son, but he had never in his life even considered the idea of _biting_ someone! Violence was never his first choice of action. He preferred calm reasoning over hostilities.

Naturally, if push came to shove, he would do whatever was necessary to protect Sherman. He was the boy's father, after all. And a dog to boot.

But _biting_?

As if that wasn't bad enough, he now knew that Sherman had not expected a show of such devotion. Surely he knew how much he meant to his father.

But what if he didn't? What if, even after all the care, protection, stability, knowledge, provision and good, old-fashioned quality time given him, Sherman really couldn't see just how much Peabody truly adored him?

"Mr. Peabody! Mr. Peabody!"

The voice shook him out of his thoughts. He looked into Sherman's expectant eyes, noticed the Baked Alaska in his hands, smiled. They never had made it to the dinner portion of their _dinner_ party, had they?

"You are perfectly aware of the rules, Sherman. No dessert until after dinner."

Sherman sighed and turned to place the treat back where he found it.

"But," Peabody announced, stopping the boy in his tracks. "It has been a rather eventful day. I think a bit of indulgence would be permissible this once."

The red-head beamed. "Thanks, Mr. Peabody!"

Sherman went to a drawer and pulled out two forks. He then waltzed out of the kitchen and over to the sofa.

"Sherman?"

The boy's smile widened. "I'm indulging, Mr. Peabody."

Peabody shook his head, but couldn't help smiling. He too strode over to the sofa and sat down.

Sherman picked up the remote and turned on a movie. "Here, Mr. Peabody," he said, offering the second fork. "We can share."

Again, the dog smiled warmly. He accepted the utensil and cut out a small bite.

Bite.

His mind was racing again. His thoughts were jumbled, chaotic. He didn't like it.

Peabody tried to force himself to relax. He could feel the tension building in his muscles. He blinked slowly, taking a deep breath.

"Boy, this sure is good, Mr. Peabody," Sherman was carelessly shoving the food into his mouth. There was ice cream smeared over his face.

Peabody laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, I was just thinking of when you were younger." His gaze was distant, thoughtful.

Sherman faced him, forgetting about the movie. He liked it when Mr. Peabody told him stories about when he was a baby. "What about me?"

"Well, it was when you were first learning to eat solid foods. You would turn your nose up at everything I offered you."

"Did you pretend my food was an airplane, Mr. Peabody?"

"Even better, Sherman." Peabody's eyes lit up at the memory. "I built you a miniature airplane that would parachute your food onto a plate that looked like a landing pad."

"Did I eat it then, Mr. Peabody?"

"No, no. If you weren't throwing your food across the room, you were smearing it all through your hair. You simply refused to eat anything. I was so worried you would end up malnourished."

"But you figured it out, right, Mr. Peabody? I mean, I'm eating right now, so you must have." He took another bite of the Baked Alaska. "You always figure everything out."

"Indeed, I did, Sherman." Peabody had to admit, he enjoyed the child's constant hero worship of him. "But it was no easy task. You were stubborn, but-

"But you were persistent," Sherman finished proudly. "What'd you do, Mr. Peabody?"

"Well," he turned to Sherman. Both were sitting cross-legged on the sofa, dessert between them, smiling at the others company. "You had been crying continuously for almost two days and I was at my wits end. I was fixing your bottle as a reward for the one spoonful of carrots I was determined you would eat, when I tripped over one of your toys. As I fell back, I threw the bottle into the air. It hit an opened jar of baby food, knocked it off the counter and onto my head."

Sherman giggled.

"And that's exactly what you did, Sherman!" Peabody exclaimed with a laugh. "Not only did the incident seem to calm your frazzled nerves quite nicely, but you were also very eager to help me clean the mashed carrots off my face. I was orange for hours, but you were eating and that was all I really cared about. For a few more weeks, you wouldn't eat unless I put the food on my face first."

Sherman fell backwards, laughing at the thought of Mr. Peabody covered in baby food. "I wish I could remember that!"

Peabody smiled demurely at his son. "Hmm." He picked up the Baked Alaska and smashed his face into it.

Sherman laughed so hard he got hiccups. Which only made him laugh more.

"Satisfied, Sherman?" Mr. Peabody asked, licking some of the ice cream off his nose.

"Not yet!" Sherman smashed his own face into what was left of their treat. It slid off the plate and onto the floor.

Peabody pounced on his son, tickling him vigorously. "And just who is going to clean that up?"

The seven year old giggled and wiggled, trying to free himself from his father's grasp.

Time passed. The two had calmed down. Peabody watched as Sherman's eyes began to close while he laid on his father's lap. Nudging Sherman gently, Peabody stirred the child out of his dozing. "I think it's time to get ready for bed."

"But I'm not sleepy," Sherman said, yawning.

Peabody chuckled. "Whether you're sleepy or not, it's half-passed-ten and you do have school in the morning."

Sherman trudged to the bathroom without question. Ten minutes later he was clean and being tucked into his bed.

"Thanks, Mr. Peabody."

"For what, Sherman?"

Sherman yawned. His eyes were drooping. "For not letting Ms. Grunion take me away."

Peabody tensed. "Ah..." He thought a moment. "Sherman."

"Yes, Mr. Peabody?"

"What you said earlier..." he trailed off, feeling his voice weakening.

How could he put it? How could he get his point across?

"Sherman, I have made a few mistakes in my life. I have done things that I regretted. But," he looked at the floor, searching for the right words. "But I have moved on from those things. Time traveler I may be, but I don't believe in living in the past."

Sherman stared at him, wide eyed. Solemn.

"Sherman, what I'm trying to-" his voice faltered when his eyes met his son's. "I've made mistakes, Sherman. Believe it or not, I'm not perfect." It was now or never. "But you, Sherman, are far from a mistake."

A few seconds passed and Sherman looked as though he was trying to wake from a dream.

"Sherman, you must understand, I have never had one regret in adopting you. You inspire me every day. Why, I wouldn't have built the WABAC if it weren't for you!"

"You... You mean it, Mr. Peabody?" A single tear rolled down the child's face.

"I do, Sherman. You are the best choice I have ever made in my life! And I have made quite a few wonderful choices." Peabody's heart swelled with pride for his son. "You have not been, nor will you ever be a mistake."

Sherman threw his arms around his father and hugged him tightly. "Mr. Peabody?"

"Yes, Sherman?"

A pause.

"I'm not a mistake."

"No, Sherman." He hugged back, tighter.

"So what am I, Mr. Peabody?"

Peabody pushed his son back, looked into his eyes. "You, Sherman, are pretty fantastic."

* * *

Sherman slept with his head on his father's lap that night, a big smile on his face.

Mr. Peabody watched.

How could he sleep? He had almost lost his most prized possession that day. His son.

He still wasn't sure if Sherman fully understood his father's fondness for him. He wasn't convinced he had made his point to the best of his abilities. He determined that he would not let his boy out of his sight until he had managed to express his paternal affection.

But would the words he had in mind be sufficient enough to carry the weight of a father's heart?

Sherman breathed steadily. Peabody watched his chest rise and fall. He rubbed a paw through his son's hair and smiled.

A boy as grand as Sherman deserved to know just how much he was cherished. And in the morning, Mr. Peabody would provide him with such knowledge.

In the morning, he would tell his fantastic, little boy that he loved him.


End file.
